The Portrait of Lady Wycliff Read online

  She threw a dubious glance in his direction. Was he serious? Had she really converted him? Would he really gain for them admission to the ton in order to educate the lords on the need for reform? Somehow, she could not quite believe in Lord Wycliff's sincerity. Except for the first day they met, he had been nothing but sympathetic to her ideas, but for some unexplainable reason, she doubted his earnestness.

  "Does that mean you will take your seat in Parliament, my lord?"

  His answer was not as quick in coming as she would have liked.

  "I shall. Once I have my personal affairs in order."

  She stiffened. "And one of those personal affairs, of course, is reclaiming Wycliff House."

  "Yes." He watched her somberly.

  Her breast heaved. "Very well, my lord. I shall not only tell you the name of the solicitor, I shall accompany you there this morning." That would save the fare for the hackney, she thought with satisfaction. Two weeks previously she had sold her cattle and carriage and been forced to dismiss the groom when she'd learned there was no money.

  She detected a flicker of satisfaction in Lord Wycliff's face as he stood.

  Her eyes passed quickly from his muscled thighs to his flat stomach, then up to his strikingly wide shoulders, and she drew in her breath as she stood.

  "Do we have the companionship of my cousin and your sister for our sojourn?" he asked.

  She put hands to hips. "It is not a sojourn, my lord. Merely a business meeting. It so happens that I have business myself with the solicitor, business of a private nature."

  "But you have not answered my question, Mrs. Phillips."

  She gave him a puzzled stare. Why did the man rattle her so? Why did his presence have the ability to make her thinking not quite straight?

  "Do you need the chaperonage of your sister?" he asked.

  Did he think she as senseless as a schoolgirl? Or an easy conquest? She would show him, arrogant aristocrat that he was! "Of course I don't need a chaperon. I'm a woman who was married for eight years. As a woman of such vast experience I am not easily victimized by scheming men."

  He gave out a laugh. "Pardon, but surely a woman with such vast experience does not attach that scheming man label to me."

  "That, Lord Wycliff, remains to be seen." Then she swept from the room and called Williams to fetch her spencer.

  "On the other hand, Lord Wycliff," she said to him as she waited for her butler to return, "I would rather not leave my maiden sister in the clutches of your worldly cousin." Worldly cousin? Such a dubious description of the thus-far-worthy Mr. Coke sounded false even to her own ears.

  Lord Wycliff threw back his head and roared in laughter. "I assure you my cousin is a most honorable man."

  Louisa swung around to face him, her blue eyes flashing. "Does not his father keep mistresses?"

  Lord Wycliff's face went white and stern. "Did we not agree on our first meeting that each man is an individual and should be judged accordingly?"

  Her face went red. She swallowed. "Of course, you are right. Mr. Coke deserves to be evaluated on his own merit. I apologize."

  "I give you my word Edward is an honorable man."

  As if his word meant anything, but she dare not question that now. She merely nodded, unable to meet his scathing gaze.

  Since it was so fair a day and since Louisa knew Ellie and Mr. Coke would be bored beyond toleration at the solicitor's, Louisa suggested leaving the two young relatives behind.

  "It is better that Miss Sinclair and my cousin continue their enjoyment of the park outside," he agreed. “It is, after all, a lovely day.”

  After giving the solicitor's direction to his driver, Lord Wycliff handed Louisa into his carriage, and to her surprise, took his regular seat beside her. They had never before been alone in the carriage. Ellie and Mr. Coke had always sat on one side, she and Lord Wycliff on the other. She knew she should scold Lord Wycliff and insist he sit across from her, but her voice failed her. To ask him to do so was to imply there was something improper in their sitting next to one another, and it would embarrass her exceedingly for him to think she could imply such things.

  So during the ride to The City, she sat beside him, outwardly complacent while a great quivering rocked within her. It was some time before she trusted her voice not to tremble as she spoke. "Should you prefer to meet with the solicitor, Mr. Twining, in private?"

  "I have nothing to hide from you, but Mr. Twining may. You see, if I don't get from him the information I seek, I plan to bribe the man."

  Louisa knew she should act with outrage at his arrogant actions, but instead she felt mildly pleased that he was being truthful with her. Truth, she had found, was alien to most men. "Then by all means, see him alone," she said. "Will you mind waiting while I speak to him of my affairs — which I heartily want to hide from you, my lord."

  He grinned. A devastatingly handsome grin. The deuced man!

  "Take as much time as you like."

  The carriage turned to the right, and she leaned into him, their thighs as close as pages in a book. And once again that overwhelming deep-down stirring did havoc to her.

  She avoided his gaze and hastily moved back.

  A moment later they were at Mr. Twining's business establishment.

  Lord Wycliff insisted she conduct her business first.

  When Louisa entered Mr. Twining's interior office, the solicitor stood. He was the age of Godwin and had been Godwin's solicitor since long before she and Godwin were married. Like Godwin, he was fat, the buttons on his waistcoat straining across his round belly. She averted her gaze to his pleasant face, where his bushy gray sideburns drew her attention.

  "I'm so sorry about Mr. Phillips," he began, his eyes sweeping over her pale – non-mourning – dress.

  "As you observe," she said curtly, "I chose not to wear mourning. I am not here to discuss Godwin but to learn in what financial circumstances he has left me."

  Without being told to do so, she sat down in front of the solicitor's desk in a broad chair with wooden arms.

  A look of — what? Mistrust? Disapproval? Or pity? — flitted across his jowled face as he took a seat. He coughed, then rang for his clerk. When the young man entered his office, Mr. Twining instructed him to bring Mr. Godwin Phillips’s papers.

  A moment later these papers were in Mr. Twining's possession. He rifled through several pages, his eyes skipping over the print. He coughed again. It was not a cough of substance but one of hesitation.

  "As I told you two weeks ago, Mrs. Phillips," he began, "your husband did not own the house in Grosvenor Square. He was actually more or less its caretaker for his benefactor."

  "His benefactor?" she asked incredulously. Godwin had no close friends and, goodness knows, he wasn't likeable enough to have a benefactor. Then she remembered those nights when Godwin would tell her not to come down, that a very important personage would be paying him a clandestine visit. A Lord Something or Other he was. Not that Godwin had shared such information with her. But because of the secrecy, she had stolen through the dark hallways and tried to listen to the men talk. The only thing she heard was her husband referring to the man as my lord.

  "Who is this man?" she asked.

  "I am not at liberty to say."

  Her hands fisted in her lap, her mouth went taut. "Then tell me what this man's relationship was to my husband."

  "That I am not privy to."

  She shrugged. "Did my husband provide another – smaller — home for me?"

  He sadly shook his head. "I'm afraid not, Mrs. Phillips."

  "As his only beneficiary, I am entitled to my husband's estate."

  "I do not deny that, Mrs. Phillips. It is just that there is little to his estate. When he moved to London permanently at the time of your marriage, he sold everything else he owned, and as you know, your late husband had rather expensive taste. His bills were enormous. Why his fees at Waiters alone---"

  "I am not interested in Godwin's expensive lifestyle. I
know the details only too well. What I require, Mr. Twining, is the exact figure of what is left from his extravagant spending. How much do I get?" What a mercenary hussy Mr. Twining must think me.

  She leaned forward.

  He cleared his throat. "As you know, none of the furnishings within the Grosvenor Square house will come to you." He rifled through papers, then coughed again. "I believe Mr. Phillips had a total of thirty-seven pounds in his bank at the time of his death. That will, of course, come to you."

  She nodded, her anger swelling.

  "Then, of course, all the jewelry and clothing he bestowed on you are yours to keep."

  That much she had known. Not that Godwin had been all that generous to her. For the occasions they had gone to fetes and balls, he had lavished her with jewelry she found gaudy and wore only on those occasions when he insisted. These she still possessed, and they should fetch enough to purchase a cottage, but she certainly could not live the rest of her life on thirty-seven pounds! Surely there had to be more money. After all, Godwin had been a man of means.

  "And as you know, Mr. Phillips settled your father with a very generous amount of money upon your marriage."

  Her stomach turned over, and rage swept through her. "How much?" she demanded.

  "One thousand pounds."

  An exorbitant sum! She could have lived on such a sum for many years. She swallowed hard. "I don't want to know of Godwin's expenses. I want to know what's left."

  He coughed again. "Actually, that's all, Mrs. Phillips. The money in the bank and your personal possessions. Also, if you care to sell any of Mr. Phillip's personal possessions, such as snuff boxes or fobs or---"

  "I get the idea, Mr. Twining." She stood up, regal and proud. "Tell me when I am to vacate my home."

  "The house's owner has graciously said you can stay there until the end of next month.

  As she mentally calculated that Godwin's possessions might fetch twenty or thirty pounds and that she had a little over a month to find a new home, she rose and bid the solicitor a curt good-day.

  * * *

  Harry did not like the worried look on Mrs. Phillips's face as she left the solicitor's office. He fought his unexpected urge to take her in his arms and smooth away her troubles. Even if she was a bloody bluestocking.

  He stood and met her somber gaze with one of sympathy, then he squeezed her arm as he walked past her and entered Mr. Twining's office, shutting the door behind him.

  The clerk had announced him as Lord Wycliff. Mr. Twining met the peer with a broad smile on his round face. "What can I do for you today, my lord?"

  "I'll not beat around the bush, Twining. I want Wycliff House back, and I'm ready to negotiate with the proper owner."

  The smile of Mr. Twining's face faded. "I will, of course, convey your wishes to the owner."

  "And who would that be?" Harry asked.

  Mr. Twining coughed. A more false cough Harry had never heard.

  "I must exercise a solicitor-client privilege in not communicating that information to you, my lord."

  "Come, Twining, every man has his price. What's yours? How much do I have to pay you to get the name of the owner of my former home?"

  He withdrew a bag of gold coins and set it on the solicitor's desk.

  Mr. Twining looked from the coins to Harry, his eyes glassy. Sweat beaded on his brow. Then he shook his head. "I'm an honorable man. I shall not disclose such privileged information."

  Harry wasn't used to being turned down. Everyone had a price, but he knew this man would not bend. Not because he was honorable.

  Because he was scared. The last time Harry had seen such fear on a man's face was when he'd been prepared to run a sword through the man.

  Chapter 5

  The return journey to Grosvenor Square was solemn. Mrs. Phillips had obviously been as disappointed as he. Oddly, her sorrow disturbed Harry more than his own. Even if he never regained Wycliff House, his comfortable life would continue much the same. When Louisa Phillips left Wycliff House, a bleak future was all she could expect. Where would she live? What would she do for money?

  For Harry knew the contemptible scoundrel who had been Louisa Phillips's husband had left her nothing. How could a man be so dishonorable?

  Louisa's estrangement from her family, he had learned, was irrevocable. Her parent was as loathsome as her husband had been. How could they have played her so cruelly? What was a woman of gentle birth to do when thrust into London with neither money nor the protection of a husband? Other women in the same deplorable circumstance — especially a woman as beautiful as the widow Phillips — would seek to marry, but not Louisa Phillips. She was not like other women.

  She hated men. And he couldn’t blame her.

  Harry spent the better part of the coach ride trying to determine how he could help the unfortunate widow. The problem was that she was too bloody proud. She would never accept his charity. He must think of a way to help her anonymously.

  He flicked a glance to her. And his heart could have bled for the somber desperation he saw on her troubled face. It was all he could do not to gather her into his arms and comfort her.

  God, but he wanted to!

  When he left her at the door to Wycliff House, he merely said, "We must think of some way to extricate you from this situation." His knuckle nudged under her chin as he lifted her face to meet his gaze. "Don't despair."

  * * *

  As foolish as it seemed, Lord Wycliff's words gave her hope. She felt less forlorn as she mounted the stairs to Godwin's chamber.

  Though it was late afternoon, his bedchamber was as dark as a cave. Louisa shivered as she entered it. The cold was only partly responsible for her shivers. She told herself the room was cold because there had been no fires in the room since he'd died. A chill slid along her spine as she crossed the room and opened the heavy red draperies. She hated this room. As she had hated the man who had inhabited it.

  Instead of experiencing exultation from her liberation, she cowered in fear, half expecting Godwin's corpulent presence to show itself.

  She had never remembered the room smelling so foul. It was a stale odor that reminded her of death. He had died here.

  Now that the room was flooded with daylight, she could expunge Godwin from her memory. The eight years with him had been but a bad dream. She would never again have to lie beneath him. He was dead. And she was free.

  She began to walk about his room, looking for things of value. There was his silver penknife. She took it up and placed it on the bed. Then she came across his ivory snuff box. It, too, went into the pile on the bed. She slid a gold band from her own finger and tossed it on the heap.

  When she finished gathering everything of value she could find, she pulled the bell rope, and when Williams answered, she gave him her instructions. She first pointed to the meager pile on the bed. "I desire that you undertake a commission for me," she said.

  "Anything you say, Mrs. Phillips."

  "I wish for you to sell my husband's things I've collected here."

  He glanced at the bed.

  "Also, I would like for you to take all of Mr. Phillips's clothing and leather goods to a second-hand clothier and obtain for them as much money as you can. It appears your former master has left this earth with no settlements for you or for me, Williams."

  His lips folded. "A pity, ma'am. I'll do all I can to get a fair price for Mr. Phillips's goods. Ye can count on me."

  She smiled. "Thank you, Williams."

  * * *

  The following morning, while Ellie was still asleep, Louisa left the house with Williams as her escort. They went to a jeweler's on Conduit Street. A very reputable jeweler from whom Godwin had purchased many of her jewels.

  Williams stayed outside as Louisa strolled confidently into the store and deposited a bag overflowing with jeweled necklaces and matching bracelets and earrings. She proceeded to dump the contents of the bag on the jeweler's counter.

  The jeweler's eyes rounded. />
  "I wish to inquire as to the worth of my jewels," Louisa said confidently.

  Without a reply, the jeweler popped a magnification device onto his left eye, then picked up the sapphire necklace. A moment later, he put it down. "I'm afraid, madam, that while these look quite lovely, they are comprised of very inferior stones. The sapphires I can give you no more than twenty pounds for."

  She snatched them from him and began to put all the jewels back into the bag. "I shall go to another jeweler for another opinion," she said.

  "I regret that they will give no more than I," he said. Now a shadow of some emotion — was it sympathy? — passed over his face. "Perhaps I could raise the amount to thirty pounds, Mrs. Phillips."

  She froze. "How did you know my name?" She had never been there before.

  "I remember your jewels, madam. And your husband." Another, less sympathetic, shadow crossed his face. "Your husband desired that I make a dazzling necklace from fake jewels. I refused. Then he asked that I make one of flawed jewels. He was adamant about wanting a necklace that gave the appearance of great wealth — which he no doubt did not possess."

  She softened toward the jeweler, who was old enough to be her father. He wasn't trying to cheat her, after all. She knew the man was telling the truth. He knew Godwin well. "Your assumption was correct, sir. I am learning that my husband's wealth was all a sham. Now that he is dead I find myself quite penniless."

  He nodded sympathetically, putting the glass once again to his eye and examining the remainder of the jewels. When he finished, he removed the glass and looked at her with sadness in his eyes. "I will give you one hundred pounds for all of them. I assure you no one else will do better. I know this because I am willing to give you exactly what they cost your late husband."

  She knew he was being more than generous. "I accept your offer."

  * * *

  Later that afternoon, as Louisa sat sewing in the upstairs study, Williams entered the chamber. Assured that he and Louisa were alone, he gave her a fistful of coins. "This is all I could get for the master's things," he told her as he counted out a little less than seventy-two pounds.